


Respiro Profundo

by Bekaylo



Series: Arezzo [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Flirting, HYDRA Husbands, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Life Partners, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pool Sex, Unorthodox Life Saving, implied drowning, potential infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/pseuds/Bekaylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the edge of the pool in Arezzo, Jack grinned up at the cloudless sky. It was a moment of content at just being here, a goal achieved. Brock was with him, they were physical miles and psychological light years away from work and the usual routines.  This was going to be fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respiro Profundo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollynoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollynoble/gifts).



> Many thanks to Mollynoble for a beta/edit and some much needed encouragement!

On the edge of the pool in Arezzo, Jack grinned up at the cloudless sky. It was a moment of content at just being here, a goal achieved. Brock was with him, they were physical miles and psychological light years away from work and the usual routines. Brock was still bent over the pool edge between Jack’s legs and humming contently, dreamily anticipating a reward for his thank-you blow job. This was going to be fun.

Jack reached down and slid both hands under Brock’s armpits, still smiling. He lunged into a sitting position, shuffling forward on powerful thighs. Brock was startled, momentarily grabbing instinctively at Jack’s hips. Looking up into Jack’s now wolfish grin, a slightly nervous half smile crossed his own features as he was inexorably pushed further back into the water.

Then Jack lifted and gripped him and launched them both into the pool. Jack pulled them down with a kick against the poolside. Brock wriggled up to cling higher on Jack's large, muscular torso, which was twisting him into a playful deathroll in the pool. He thought of something he heard once about captive marine mammals playing with humans and nearly drowning them. He remembered that Jack was an expert diver, trained in planting explosives underwater. The combination of potential danger and the reassurance of being with Jack was exhilarating. Brock relaxed, pushing away the slight panic and they floated for a few seconds. Jack nuzzled at Brock’s ear and Brock felt the hot stiffening of an underwater boner. Hard, with the hint of danger and knowing Jack was the one person to be with in this situation, Brock laughed underwater.

That earned him a double lungful of water.

Brock let out a bubbling underwater squeal and thrashed in Jack’s arms. Jack reacted at once, kicking up to the surface, breaching them both like a strange pair of porpoises. Brock gasped and spluttered explosively, water bubbling out of his nose and mouth. The next thing he was clearly aware of was a hard impact against the side of the pool, his chest and stomach up against the tiles underwater. He scrabbled with his arms, reaching for the flat edge instinctively and was aided by a lift from Jack behind him. The he was trapped again, bent over the pool edge stomach on the warm paving tile, legs pushed apart under water by Jack. The weight of the man on top of him was keeping him there and it forced another gush of water out of his nose.

“Let’s get that water out of you,” said Jack, silkily, into his ear. There was pressure and pain in Brock’s chest from the inhaled water, from his erection crushed into the pool edge and, without warning, from Jack pushing inside him.

Brock’s arms flailed, Jack pushed his elbows hard, twice into the side’s of Brock’s ribcage, following with a deep thrust into his ass. More chlorinated water burst into Brock’s throat and nose, he coughed onto the tiles, “Fuck…aaggh, Jack,” he gasped, retching.

Jack was grunting, picking up the pace fucking him, Brock’s legs jerked like a frog’s and his toes banged sharply against the marble.

“oww…” the last of the water left him. The chlorine left a bleach taste, burning in his throat and nasal passages, but he was far more aware right of what what going on further down. Jack’s rutting was raising his ass at the pool edge, there was an looser friction on the tiles under Brock's dick. Brock struggled to grind under Jack, as he came explosively above him.

Jack shuddered like a beached whale, knocking the breath out of Brock now there was no more water inside him.

“You fucking… dick,” exclaimed Brock, inhaling wetly. “Drowned me,” The stinging both ends, the drowning and unorthodox live saving, such a fucking drama with Jack - Brock orgasmed with a sob against the tiles. So messed up, irresponsible and ridiculous - Jack always knew how to get him off in the worst of circumstances. Brock liked the drama.

Jack sighed happily. “Don’t breathe in, underwater,” he muttered, “Idiot,”

“Dick,” repeated Brock and sneezed. Chlorinated bubbles and snot shone in the sunlight next to Brock’s nose as they rested, legs dangling in the pool. Jack sighed again, luxuriously. Brock seemed contented enough, in his own way, that was the main thing. This was a great vacation so far.

___________

 

Brock grunted and opened one eye on the sofa in the hotel room. He had been dozing, having flopped down there to wait for Jack to shower and get dressed. It was a long standing argument-reducing tradition that Jack used showers before Brock, as that way there was actually hot water left for him.

Brock was awoken with a slight start by Jack sitting down with him, lifting and rearranging Brock’s sprawled legs to do so, patting his hip just a little too hard, like he was greeting a horse.

“Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty,” said Jack. “You’re making the place wet,”

Brock was still damp from the pool, his hair had made a damp patch on a sofa cushion - and there was, he realized, a damp spot further down the sofa, from Jack’s fluids leaking out of Brock.

“Leaking,” confirmed Jack, pushing Brock’s knees aside and looking pointedly at the spot in question. Brock huffed and pulled himself up and away. There was no need to be embarrassed, but Jack had a way of making Brock feel he had left his dignity at the door these days.  
Brock frowned a little. He still felt a little raw a in a few places and not just the usual ones. He could taste chlorine.

“Get showered, we’re going out,” Jack informed him, holding up a pamphlet for the Museo Statale D’Arte Medievale E Moderna.

“A fucking museum,” noted Brock.

“This is your cultural heritage, ain’t it? This is about your roots,” Jack sounded like he was doing Brock a massive favor.

“Fine,” Brock muttered. There was no real hardship to doing what Jack wanted. Overall everything was usually about what Jack wanted, generally as long as Brock got fucked at some point he was happy to let Jack choose various things. That was a major plus of being with Jack, he made Brock’s life easier in general.

While Brock was dozing, Jack had planned a two day itinerary, starting with the fucking museum. Brock wanted to relax more than the plans allowed for. He was a little ball of burning energy that needed to refuel whenever the pace of life slowed down, whereas Jack remained stolidly active whatever was happening.

Brock got up and headed for the bathroom, to shower. Jack tutted over the damp patches on the sofa and Brock felt a small spike of resentment, with some irritation. Sometimes, these days, Brock didn’t think Jack took him completely seriously, as a man or a STRIKE lead.

Brock won some Washington local amateur boxing championships several times in his twenties. The first time he showed Jack a trophy, Jack squinted at it and remarked someone had mis-spelled ‘Super-welterweight Shortstuff Class’ and got a smack. He had, however watched the competition, and was encouraging of Brock in his hobby that fitted so well with their occupation but was still something just for him. 

They were very close while appearing to almost dislike each other, sometimes, judging by the ‘fuck yous’ and the ‘you are a ridiculous little man/ overgrown idiot’ manners they adopted. They sparred literally and verbally but it was clear they had each other’s’ backs at all times. Jack was an almost loose cannon of a second-in-command, hesitating, arguing under his breath or grouching at Brock’s orders. Privately pointing out his faults in his no-filter way. Those were rare occasions, when the pressure was really on and Jack felt Brock should be taking a different course of action. They had happened more in the past, when Brock was a relatively young STRIKE lead, when Jack seemed to take a big brother role in many ways. Brock had to admit Jack’s level headed pragmatism had helped make him the Commander he was now. Jack had verbally and physically beaten down anyone else who said anything negative about him, always. 

Brock left the shower and went into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Jack sauntered to the doorway while Brock was dressing, watching him appreciatively. Jack clearly found him incredibly attractive. Brock took care of his body and Jack seemed hypnotized by his muscle definition and the general compact shape of him. There was no question of Brock not feeling the same about Jack; that big hard body fascinated Brock and knowing those green eyes were drilling a hole in his bare ass when he reached for his jeans was just hot. But there was sometimes a feeling that Jack wasn’t ‘seeing’ Brock, a person. He was seeing ‘something’ - something he was more than fond of, but in the way a person loves a pet. Or at least something that is allowed opinions of their own and needs to be considered… but only up to a certain point.

There was a small chocolate on each pillow in the bedroom. Brock noticed them now and remembered clearly a more dingy motel room with a chocolate bar on the pillow. It had said ‘Cherry Ripe’. In his memory, the man he had gone to the motel with - not Jack, before Jack - chuckled.

“I know we popped your cherry last time, but this is like it’s the first time.” he slid his arms around Brock’s waist from behind. “‘Cos’ that’s our little secret, isn’t it, last time.”  
Brock’s breath had hitched automatically, remembering last time and he even squirmed ever so slightly in his companion’s grasp.

“Ah, ah, relax,” said the man. “You know that was our little secret, just a reminder of what happens to out faggots.” the man nuzzled Brock’s neck and nipped his ear a little too hard. “And it’s what happens to little fags who can’t keep their mouths shut if I invite my friends to play.”

“I wouldn’t say anything, you know that, Matt,” whispered Brock.

“No? So you don’t want me to call them tonight?” the man was speaking into his ear like whispering sweet nothings. “Don’t you like my friends? They all liked you… remember? Be nice to my friends and you get me.”

“Yes, Matt. But I just thought...it was just us, tonight,” Brock spoke in a small voice but already there was a growing part of his brain that recognised what a weak, painslut faggot he was (just like Matt always said) for going along with this shit.

“It is just us, sweetheart,” conceded Matt. “For tonight. Bill’s having a bachelor party in Vegas next month. I’d really like to bring you along for that. So yeah, I want you all to myself 'til then,”

“Oh,” said Brock. “Thanks, Matt,”

Brock backed away from the bed, in Arezzo.

He turned and walked out of the bedroom, brushing past Jack, who made a slight grab.  
“I’m going out,” announced Brock. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Jack frowned a little.

“Just for fresh air, out the front - the airplane, you know,” Brock was backing towards the door.

“Alright...I’ll come with you,” Jack pushed himself off the doorframe he had been leaning on.

It was tempting, Jack made him feel like he could take on the world in many ways. But Brock wanted to just get away from shared hotel bedrooms and chocolates on the pillow and whatever Jack was ultimately planning bringing him here. Which Brock suspected was to do with their relationship and making it all official, and openly a couple and gay.

“I need a - I need a walk, just wait, I’ll be back in an hour, please Jack,”

“Alright…” Jack conceded as Brock was halfway out of the door. He walked swiftly out of the hotel and slowed only when he found himself entering the Piazza Grande. Taking deep breaths of warm air, he noticed the man looking at him again, the oddly familiar stranger who had watched him get out of the cab earlier.

He was sitting at a table outside a cafe, with a glass of wine and a plate of something that looked good. He raised his glass and the hair stood up on Brock’s neck.

Brock felt a jolt, a challenge - you fucking sleaze sitting there waiting to get a glimpse of me. But he couldn't deny the attraction - the man looked good, olive skinned, flecks of grey in carefully styled, spiked up hair, not unlike an older version of Brock, in fact, older but looking damn hot.

“Hey, there! Bel culo,” said the man, eyeing Brock appreciatively and speaking in a casual tone of voice as if commenting on the nice ass on a total stranger was the most normal, appropriate thing in the world.

“Thanks,” murmured Brock. “I mean yeah, I know, but-”

“Come, join me?” asked the man.

Brock glanced back at the hotel. He had just under an hour, why not? Sitting in the sun watching the world go by for an hour, what harm could it do?

 

 

 

 

 

“

**Author's Note:**

> Part Four of Arezzo.


End file.
